A Personal Note: Growing Up with Matcha in Uji—The Scenes Behind Today's Boom

I grew up in Uji, a place famous for tea and matcha.

When I say “famous,” I really mean it—as a kid, I thought every town in Japan had school taps where tea flowed instead of water. Only later did I realize this was not normal and that my childhood had been rather tea-scented.

My family bought teas from the same tea shop they’d been loyal to for decades, and every season they would bring home different teas. 

 

Despite all that, I didn’t actually like matcha. This tends to surprise people. “But you’re from Uji!” they say, as if that automatically means you’re born sipping matcha like milk. But to me, matcha tasted bitter and slightly grown-up in a way I wasn’t ready for. It reminded me of formal tea ceremonies—quiet, serious, and a bit too elegant for a kid.

 

Years later, in university, I took a summer sado (tea ceremony) class on a whim. I still didn’t understand much back then—the beauty, the calm, even the tiny bits of humor hidden in the ritual all slipped past me.

I was probably too young, or too impatient, or just too distracted by life. But strangely, something from that class stayed with me, like a small seed tucked away.

Eventually, it sprouted: now I take sado lessons regularly and make matcha at home, enjoying the very thing I once ran away from.

 

Matcha’s global fame grew in a similar slow and roundabout way. Before the vivid green lattes and the “superfood” excitement, there were generations of farmers and tea makers in Uji and other regions quietly doing their work every day.

Some kept traditions alive during times when few people cared. Others tried new, sustainable ways of growing tea as the world changed.

And many created sweets, snacks, and friendly little drinks to help more people meet matcha without feeling intimidated.

 

Even in sado, there’s a gentle balance between protecting what’s old and welcoming what’s new.

Omote-senke carefully preserves the forms passed down from Sen no Rikyū, while Ura-senke opens small doors here and there so beginners—whether in Japan or far away—can step inside without fear.

Thanks to both, matcha culture has slipped quietly, steadily into the modern world without losing its heart.

 

I think one reason people feel drawn to matcha is simply its bright green color. Humans seem to like green—even if they’re not thinking about it—because it feels alive and calming, like taking a deep breath in a forest.

But I also hope that as matcha travels around the world, people can feel the history and care packed into that little green powder.

It’s much more than a trend. It’s something that’s been cherished for centuries, shaped by countless hands and countless cups.